


The Damned Dancer

by PuPu_Rin



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dancing, Dorkiness, Emotional, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Dancing, Some Humor, Wholesome, dimitri has a crush, we must protect Dimi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-10-27 12:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20760347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuPu_Rin/pseuds/PuPu_Rin
Summary: “Professor.” Dimitri frowned, jaw set. “Surely you cannot be serious?”Professor Byleth said nothing, yet the wicked flicker against her lips offered the prince the answer he’d dreaded.The White Heron Cup is approaching and Dimitri has been selected to represent the Blue Lions--to hismortification. Surely there must be a silver lining to this nightmare?Right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for dropping by! (^._.^)ﾉ
> 
> This is my first time posting a fic in y e a r s so feedback is super appreciated but (of course) not required! I was so smitten by Dimitri after my first BL route, I just felt compelled to make a dorky fic ^_^'
> 
> Anyway, onward... to the fic!

**Chapter 1: Dimitri, the damned dancer.  
**

“Professor.” Dimitri frowned, jaw set. “Surely you cannot be serious?”

Professor Byleth said nothing, yet the wicked flicker against her lips offered the prince the answer he’d dreaded. Brow pinched, he strode closer, shaking his head.

“Please professor, you must reconsider!” Voice wrought with mortification; Dimitri looked as though he was ready to fall to his knees. “Of course, I will accept… but you are making a huge mistake!” He heaved a deep sigh. “You _know_ that I am no dancer, you’ll be damning us all.”

“I have faith in you, Dimitri.” Byleth smiled, a real one. Placing a firm yet gentle hand upon his shoulder, Dimitri tensed before relaxing. “Do you not have faith in my judgement?”

“I do, professor… I just can’t help but think Sylvain or Ingrid are better suited for the White Heron Cup and I believe you know that too.” He folded his arms against his chest. “That said, you specifically chose me anyway,” Dimitri shifted his gaze, ears pinkening, “I’m glad, truly. Thank-you for believing in me, professor.”

“I anticipate another win for the Blue Lions, you’re going to dance wonderfully, Dimitri. I know it.” Byleth reaffirmed. “I shall relay it to Lady Rhea at once, I’ll let you know when the designated practice timings are afterwards.”

“I’ll certainly try,” he breathed, realising that now every student, knight and member of the church would be privy to his participation in the White Heron Cup, “…and I’ll practice hard!”

“I know you will.”

The annual White Heron Cup would be held at Garreg Mach Monastery during the third week of the Ethereal Moon. Given the transpiring of recent events, certain students were more enthused than others in regard to the competition. Initially, Byleth believed the timing of the White Heron Cup was impractical; at least half of her students happened to be suffering from understandably low spirits, prince Dimitri in particular. However, as the date of the announcement approached Byleth found herself looking forward to it, perhaps this would be the morale boost her students needed?

Dimitri approached the professor’s desk, painfully aware of the presence of his fellow students as they both watched and whispered among themselves. He’d sworn to have heard Annette and Mercedes tittering away, yet they were straight-faced after he’d spun around— an effort in vain.

“Your highness, I can accompany you if you so wish?” Dedue had offered.

“Alone with the _professor_…” Sylvain let his comment linger in the air, lips curling. “Mind if I tag along too?”

“If you have that much free time to waste, I’d rather you spend it training with me.” Felix griped, frustration mounting in his voice. “You’ve become _sloppy_ as of late, boar prince.”

Dimitri had waved them all away; it was chastening that he was the talk of his classmates, the sheer thought of them witnessing his dance practice was enough to addle his senses. The fact that his professor would be instructing him privately was both comforting and horrifying. Dimitri had muttered a silent prayer as he practiced steps (in the privacy of his chamber) before the morning lecture, asking Seiros to guide his wayward feet— or at least halt them from tripping over himself.

“Are you ready to practice, Dimitri?” Byleth asked, gathering up materials from her desk. “The weather is pleasant, perhaps we could practice in the courtyard?”  
  
The courtyard was probably one of the most exposed areas in the monastery. Dimitri swallowed hard, other students and faculty members would be roaming across the courtyard by this time as lessons had finished for the day. The thought of running into a fellow competitor daunted him but above all else having Edelgard see him flounder would be the nail in the coffin.

“I’m ready, professor,” he began, “but—”

“But?”

Dimitri cleared his throat, feigning a resolute expression. “I feel as though practicing in such an open area could prove harmful in a _strategic_ sense.” He hoped she was buying what he was (trying) to sell. “It wouldn’t do to have our competitors watch us practice, would it?”

He held his breath.

“I see your point.” Said Byleth, touching her hand to her chin, contemplatively. Her mien was a locked door, eyes appearing vacant until they met his own. “Shall we find a secluded place to practice instead?”

Dimitri mentally applauded himself. He nodded readily, “I think that would be best, professor.”

Brows furrowed in thought, Byleth became quiet once more before clasping her hands together in silent triumph. “I think I know just the place…!”


	2. A Sunset Soiree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri begins to loosen up around his professor only for a certain eagle-eyed lordling to show up wielding a spanner to throw in the works. 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back with another chapter! I probably wont be able to update *this fic this* quickly every time, but while I'm off from university-- I have more free time to do so! This chapter is bit longer than the previous one so I hope you like it and if you do please let me know! Enjoy! (○＞ω＜○)

**Chapter 2: A sunset soiree**

“Is this truly okay, professor?” Dimitri asked, admiring the view from the Star Terrace balcony. “I didn’t think students were allowed up here.”

“Lady Rhea made an exception for me as she often does.” Byleth replied, staring out over the monastery grounds below. “Let’s not squander our practice time wondering why.” She turned to face her student. Though his gaze appeared relaxed, the whiteness of his knuckles on the balustrade suggested otherwise. “Dimitri, are you alright?”

Pushing off the balcony, the prince stood to attention— rigidly so. “Yes, professor!” He declared. “I… suppose warm-ups are in order.”

Dimitri was at least confident when it came to stretching; the exercise drills Professor Byleth had set for him were not entirely different to the ones he regularly performed during combat training. He supposed skirmishing was its own form of dance in some abstract way; though as far as dance partners went, he greatly preferred the lance.

“Alright, we have quite a bit to cover and not a lot of daylight left to work with.” Byleth mused, procuring a thread bound parchment pad from her side satchel. “Let’s start simple today,” she brushed her dark hair over her shoulder and flipped through the first few pages, “we can try the Goddess’s harvest dance.”

Dimitri joined the professor, edging close enough to peer over her shoulder. Sir Alois, Shamir and Professor Manuela were mentioned and circled in her notes, a lengthy list of titles appeared under each of their names. Undoubtedly, the professor had been looking into the sorts of soirees the judges favoured. Admittedly, Dimitri expected this sort of sycophantic tactic from Claude Von Riegan, he was not entirely sure whether to be utterly impressed or concerned in regards to professor Byleth’s ‘research’.

“Those _lists_,” Dimitri breathed, eyes widening, “they cannot _all_ be the titles of different dances… surely?”

“I thought you wanted to win, Dimitri?”

“Well, _that_ and not making an utter fool of myself, professor.” Dimitri groaned. “Perhaps it is not too late to ask Flayn or—”

“I won’t let that happen,” Byleth interrupted, she stared directly into his eyes, the prince felt compelled to do the same. “I promise you.” She spoke softly, smiling tenderly.

Heart thumping, Dimitri gathered his breath. For the briefest of moments, he felt light, unburdened. He wanted to be cosseted by her, to bask in the warmth of that smile. All he could manage was a single nod.

The prince had given all he had during their dance practice. At first his legs moved stiffly, arms too rigid, hips locked in place in need of oiling. Dancing in front of the professor was embarrassing and especially difficult simultaneously avoiding her stare all the while pilfering glimpses of her for himself.

It was only after professor Byleth volunteered to demonstrate a particular step did the prince find himself loosening up, be it her instruction or touch that turned his knees to water.

“Join hands with me, this turn is a little difficult to demonstrate on my own.” She’d said and the prince had complied, taking both hands, threading his fingers between them. Her smooth hands did not feel as though they belonged to a mercenary, an ashen demon nonetheless. Softly counting the steps, they sauntered together in a circle, arms rising and falling, palms clasped together tightly. Round and round they pranced, conversing through the cuts of their breath. 

Before either dancer noticed, the sun had melted into a thin golden thread along the horizon. The tintinnabulation of monastery bells signaled supper would soon be prepared in the dining hall. Emerging from her trance, the professor hurriedly brought the lesson to a close. Her student stood before her, erubescent in the tangerine glow. A shy smile graced his complexion and Byleth found herself short of breath. She wondered if he was currently aware of how charming he looked?

“So, how did I do, professor?” He asked, visibly bashful. “I did step on your toes a few times, I’m so sorry! I _want_ to tell you it won’t happen again but…” he chuckled nervously, “well, perhaps that’s asking a little too much.”

Byleth clapped her student on the arm, playfully. “You did far better than I expected, Dimitri. There’s really no need to beat yourself up over it, I was rather impressed with your performance today.” She tutted and tapped the toe of her boot against the tiling. “As you can see, my toes are quite fine.” 

Dimitri blinked; she was actually _impressed_ by his farce of a rehearsal?

“Oh, don’t look so surprised.” Byleth continued, taking his arm. They strolled towards the doorway together, all the while Dimitri struggled to maintain an air of composure. “Come, you deserve a meal after all this.”

“Allow me to treat you, professor.” He offered as they made their way downstairs towards the monastery grounds. “I am truly grateful for you taking the time to teach me such… interesting dance pieces, knowing how busy you are.”

Byleth paused before acknowledging his highness with a brisk nod. “I’d like that.” She spoke barely above a whisper.

“Ah, wonderful.” He smiled to himself. “It’s a—”

A whisper in his blood made the lordling freeze, he’d felt the prickling gaze of another set of eyes bore into the nape of his neck. Both Dimitri and Byleth turned.

“Well, don’t the two of you look cosy?” Green eyes took both of them in as their arms promptly fell to their sides. The leader of the Golden Deer house stepped out from the corridor adjacent to the second storey staircase. “Looks like I was a little late to catch a glimpse of what I’m to be contending with?”

Dimitri exhaled through his nose. “I should’ve guessed you’d have a motive to be here.” He grumbled. “Is that all, Claude?”

“Hey now, are you listening to this, ‘teach?” Claude looked to Byleth, brows drawn, hands on his hips. “You may think the worst of me as a fellow competitor but, I’m only here to extend the Blue Lions an olive branch.”

“Continue, Claude,” said Byleth thoughtfully, pursing her lips.

“_Professor_,” Dimitri started, shooting Claude a sidelong glance, “he’s obviously plotting something.”

“I want to hear what he has to say, Dimitri.” Byleth concluded, curiosity piqued. “What’s this about an olive branch?”

Claude flashed a pearly grin Dimitri’s way. What came was a scowl, followed with a terse, “fine.”

Claude raked his fingers against the fabric of his sleeves, feigning a shiver. “Have the halls always been this draughty? Why don’t we discuss it over supper? I hear they’re serving one of your _favourites_ tonight, ‘teach.” The corners of Claude’s mouth curled into something mischievous. “Oh, you’re always welcome to join us _too_, your highness.”

The prince appeared taken aback before crossing his arms tightly against his chest, jaw clenched, visibly bothered. Byleth nudged him gently, his visage softened a little. 

“Alright Claude,” she chuckled, having made their way down the last set of stairs, “let’s all head to the dining hall before it fills up” wagging a finger at the young lord, he threw his hands up feigning defeat, “_no_ more teasing, alright?”

“His highness knows I’m only _kidding_, right, friend?”

Dimitri murmured something inaudible as he strode ahead wearing an expression akin to having sipped soured milk. Claude made sure to catch up with him, inclining his head, he spoke quietly:

“_Fret not, friend,_” he whispered, “_I’m not going to impede on your dinner date with the professor, promise._” He winked knowingly.

As Claude’s words set in, Dimitri was ready for the earth beneath him to swallow him whole; he grasped the young nobleman’s shoulder so suddenly even Claude had flinched, eyes wide.

“_It isn’t like that,_” he hissed, hot in the face, “_please,_ _keep your voice down...!_”

“I hope the two of you aren’t bickering…?” The professor called from behind, the tone of her voice remained playful enough.

Holding onto what little semblance of sangfroid he possessed, Dimitri turned to his professor. “I-I’m… going to secure us a seat!” He declared in stilted breaths before turning on his heel having taken off towards the dining hall, cheeks burning as Claude’s words reverberated around in his head.

_A dinner date with the professor…_

He could hardly wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank-you for making it to the end of another chapter! You are the bestest (´・ω・`)
> 
> Also! If you enjoy FE3H art or just the occasional shitpost, I might as well throw my twitter [Right here](https://twitter.com/Dame_kitsune) ^_^ Let's scream about Fire emblem together xD


	3. A Golden Opportunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third competitor makes themselves known, Claude relays an idea and Dimitri has a few of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems like my chapters keep getting longer ^_^' Anyway, thank-you so much to everyone reading this fic, it's honestly shocking to me but I really appreciate it >3< 
> 
> I'm also dropping [my twitter](https://twitter.com/Dame_kitsune) because I want more mutual FE3H friends (bonus: I do fanart too ;3) HMU ^O^
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 3: A golden opportunity

The Garreg Mach dining hall buzzed with the chattering of students, clinking cups and clattering cutlery. Though prior events remained at large on the minds of the monastery’s inhabitants, the White Heron Cup was now a hot topic on the lips of most students and faculty alike. The prince of Faerghus had tried to ignore the wagging tongues and furtive glances thrown his way upon searching for a suitable seat in the dining hall, yet a singular look from across the hall unerringly caught his attention.

The Adrestian princess gestured to him subtly, a polite dip of the head, rising from her seat as he approached.

“Dimitri, were you in need of a table?” Edelgard asked, dusting the cuffs of her uniform, “Hubert and I were about to leave.”

Immediately, Hubert centred his focus in Dimitri’s direction. He gave a curt bow, “_prince_ Dimitri,” he spoke almost mockingly, the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk, “yes, we were to abscond but not before her highness decided to graciously offer you this table.”

Dimitri resisted rolling his eyes, “thank-you, kindly.” He replied, mirroring the bow.

“You look to be a little out of sorts, Dimitri.” Edelgard said plainly, “I assume it’s related to the White Heron Cup? I do hope you’ve been practising,” she wore a knife of a smile. “after all, I would know.”

Dimitri chuckled, low and humourless. “Yes, I suppose you would.”

***

Claude dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin before reclining back into his seat, hands folded over his full stomach.

“I have _really_ gotta give it to Dedue… The man knows how to cook.” He sipped from his spiced mead, eyeing the small audience seated around him. “Anyway,” he declared, “about the _plan_.”

“I thought you were to explain yourself _before_ dining?” Dimitri snapped, stabbing at his cheese gratin, “_blast it_…” he grumbled, fork bent at the tines.

“Oh my…” Mercedes slid the prince another fork, “that is the third one, you should try to be a little gentler with the utensils, Dimitri.” She smiled encouragingly, “we can practise next time, if you’d like?”

Felix scoffed.

Dimitri sheepishly nodded, “of course, thank-you Mercedes.” He glanced at the professor seated across from him, completely engrossed in her meal, she helped herself to a second serving of Gautier cheese gratin. Glancing up from the dish, the prince shifted his attention to the leader of the Golden deer. “Well… go _on_, Claude.” He urged.

“My apologies,” Claude rested his elbows on the table, “you see, I’ve come up with a solution for the competition that will benefit us all— even our Black Eagle friends—”

“Then why aren’t _they_ here at this meeting?” Felix interjected before he tore off the meat from his skewer, chowing down. “Who even cares about the White Heron Cup?” He muttered between bites. 

“Hey man, quiet. I want to hear this.” Sylvain tried to hush him with a finger to his lip.

“Get that finger out of my face!” Bit Felix, swatting his hand away. “Who knows where it’s been…”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean, Felix?” The Gautier heir raised a brow, “I’ll have you know there are women practically dying to touch these hands.”

“Do I _look_ like a woman to you?” Felix scrunched his face before grabbing another skewer. “Get lost, Sylvain.”

Dimitri groaned.

“Felix. Sylvain.” Professor Byleth spoke up from her meal. A withered look was all it took to silence them.

“As I was saying,” Claude breathed, he’d begun to feel a headache forming, “I’ve decided to civilly extend an olive branch to your class, teach!” He declared. “Despite dancing fairly well, I’m aware—well everyone is— that Dimitri is… not exactly the _favourite_ to win the White Heron Cup this year. Therefore, I figured it best that we of the Golden Deer help the Blue Lions out. If you help us secure first place in the competition, we will do all we can to help the Blue Lions reach second. You won’t have to worry about your pride or whatever becoming tarnished were you to place third. I’m offering you guys a sort of failsafe against that.”

Professor Byleth was not entirely sure about how to respond, never had she been offered such a blatantly back-handed ‘olive branch’. The similarly perplexed expressions of the students seated with them seemed to share the same collective thought: _was he serious?_

“Okay, _look_,” Claude continued, “it really is a win for all, it’s just a matter of perspective. When the Golden Deer take the trophy, the Blue Lions are spared from a total defeat and Dimitri will look totally competent having murdered his archrival Edelgard—on the _dancefloor_ of course. Our dear princess may not see it initially, but in the years to come she will look back on the competition and feel gratitude over the humbling experience, saved from the fate of becoming consumed by complacency— a track she’s treaded for far too long.” 

Before Byleth could say anything, Dimitri had set down his cutlery. “I will not help you cheat, Claude.” He said sternly.

“Oh, come on, it isn’t cheating? It’s the judges that make the call, throwing Edelgard off her game is just one of many simple tactics— we do it all the time when we’re out in the field fighting, it’s the same principle.” Claude responded, he clasped his hands underneath his chin, leaning on them. “Think of it as a challenge, we all know Edelgard _loves_ those; don’t think for a second that she isn’t one for utilizing her _own_ set of rules for the occasion either. You know her better than I do, after all.”

“Is it truly, the same principle…?” Mercedes wondered aloud, gathering the plates and cutlery no longer in use.

“While I agree that Edelgard is in need of a lesson in humility—” Dimitri thought back to a few moments earlier, her smile had revealed to him everything regarding her position as his fellow competitor, “—I believe the best method to do so is to serve it to her directly using our own means. That is how she tackles things; I believe she will respect opponents that best her in the same way.” Dimitri looked to Claude, the blue in his eyes flickered and a smile of his own appeared. “For wanting to spare me the embarrassment of utter defeat, I thank you, Claude. However, you failed to consider that I plan on besting both Edelgard and _you_.”

“Good _grief_, here I thought that animal and I were on the same page.” Felix mumbled, vacating from the table to help Mercedes wash up.

Sylvain, however, thrust an arm around the prince’s shoulders. “Now _that’s_ what I like to hear, Dimitri.” He said, grinning from ear to ear. “Just one afternoon with the professor and she’s got you all fired up huh?”

“Wha—” Dimitri quickly shoved Sylvain away, feeling his cheeks prickle with heat. “Wh-why must you say it like that?” A part of him wanted to slam Sylvain’s face into the remaining gratin, although professor Byleth’s tittering swiftly dulled his edge. How he longed to see that pert expression of hers, he’d almost forgot Claude was there— reading his erubescence. 

“Great, had I known you were going to grow a spine for dancing, I would have come to you _beforehand_. At least Hilda thought it was a good idea…” Claude lamented, running a hand through his dark hair. He stood up languidly, full in the stomach. “Well, the offer still stands if you happen to change your mind; though both you and Edelgard are alike in your stubbornness, so I doubt you will.” He made a farewell gesture with one hand, and followed up with a bow to the professor. “Well, good luck, teach!”

***

He should have been sleeping, it was well past curfew but Dimitri had been restless, slumber eluding him. He’d sat at the edge of the courtyard, where the benches overlooked the view of the cemetery, drinking in the cool night air. His head throbbed as it often did at times, a pain festering in the back of his mind. Though there was little he could do to sooth it— he hadn’t wanted to.

The prince was unsure of how to process the day’s events, feeling as drained as if he’d been out battling brigands. Fingertips sinking into his palms, he recollected holding hands and linking arms with the professor. If only they’d had more time together, if only he’d spent less time stumbling and stepping over her feet so that he could thread their fingers for another lingering moment.

When Claude took leave of the dining hall, Sir Jeralt appeared wearing an indecipherable expression. His daughter left to speak with him but not before touching her disciple’s wrist, “_I’m so proud of you, Dimitri_,” she’d said and his heart might’ve leapt from his chest had her touch remained only a second longer. Given everything, Dimitri wondered whether it was greed or incompetence filling him with the regret of not asking her to dine with him privately. Claude had planted a seed within his mind the moment he’d mentioned: ‘dinner date’.

The crunching of leaves broke his scattered thoughts. Startled, he turned, hand resting on the dagger tucked into his belt. Squinting in the darkness, there was a small dark shape. He sucked in a breath.

A cat mewled, scampering away up the steps towards the sauna area. He relaxed, exhaling slowly.

“It’s late, you should be sleeping.”

Dimitri recoiled, startling to his feet. Byleth leaned with her back against the safety railing, how long she’d been around the area, he hadn’t known, her footsteps proved themselves stealthier than the monastery cats.

“Professor…” His breath escaped him, “how long have you… erm,” he shook his head, “forgive me, I just came out for some fresh air.” He sank back down onto the bench.

“I couldn’t sleep either…” Byleth spoke as if reading his mind, she sat with him, a heartbeat’s distance away. “but it’s ill-advised to be out so late, shall I escort you back to your room?”

Dimitri paused, wanting to selfishly prolong the moment. So, he said nothing.

Byleth sat with him in comfortable silence, the night was still and cool; it was difficult remaining vigilant to her surroundings when she was with him. Though the dark obscured the fine details of his features, she’d found herself all the more captivated by his sombre expression.

She shifted closer still, looking to him searchingly. Her eyes large enough to capture the full reflection of the moon, the prince worried he might fall in headfirst were he to gaze too deeply. He swallowed hard.

“…Professor?”

“Yes, Dimitri?”

Perhaps it was the moon in her eyes or the sweetness of the dew in the night air, Dimitri felt himself growing brave. He looked to his teacher fondly, leaning in, he offered her a hand. She thoughtfully studied the gesture.

“_I promise it won’t take long_,” he spoke softer than a whisper, “_there’s something I want to show you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter wasn't too janky (I did most of it on my phone tbh) =3= but if you made it this far.... once again, thank-you!! Please claim your reward below in the comments:
> 
> (Reward pending)  
-1 time-skip Dimi kiss (~￣³￣)~ 'My beloved, MC'


	4. Girls and Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix is still Felix. Dimitri seeks out Sylvain... to thank him? Byleth finds herself growing more and more attached to the prince of Faerghus, but...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm sorry that this chapter took longer to finish than I expected! This week has been a stressful one, but I'm pleased to mention that this chapter is longer than the others, yay! ^O^ I hope you enjoy it, please comment and let me know! ^_^

Chapter 4: Girls and Ghosts

“…so, I figured it would be best that I focus solely on my sword training. I have no need to be focusing on anything else right now.”

“Ah… I see.”

“Therefore, I see no reason that I should sit in on professor Hanneman’s lecture this afternoon. I’ll be at the training grounds instead.”

“The training grounds, yes…” Byleth nodded, mind elsewhere.

“Are you even _listening_ to me, professor?” Felix strained, tapping her desk with the back of his knuckle. “_Snap_ out of it!”

It had worked, Byleth blinked a few times before meeting her student’s irritated visage. Eyes watering, she pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, stifling a yawn. “Oh, sorry Felix,” she managed, “what were you saying?”

He rolled his eyes, “forget it…” he muttered, “just go take a nap, professor.” He stalked back to his seat.

The yawning returned before she could call him back, her burning eyes fluttered shut. He was right, she needed a nap. She’d been up much later than anticipated the night before; eventually falling asleep in the early hours of the morning. Having dragged herself out of bed a few hours later, the professor had barely enough time to prepare for classes. Still, it mattered little— she was happy.

While paging through lesson notes, Byleth snuck a glance at the source of her late night. Studious and steadfast, prince Dimitri seemed focused on his lesson work, quill dancing furiously against the parchment. She wondered if the young lord was used to sleeping late, as he seemed uninhibited by the drowsiness currently plaguing her. With only a few minutes left of the self-study period, Byleth closed her eyes again, deciding to doze for the remainder.

“Professor?”

Eyes opening again, heavy lidded, a large flask greeted Byleth atop her desk. She instinctively reached for it; warm to the touch, it carried the aroma of coffee. Prince Dimitri looked to her; blatant concern etched across his handsome face. 

“I thought you might need a pick-me-up, professor.” He declared, “you seem rather tired...” Brows drawn, he bit down on his bottom lip. “It’s my fault for keeping you up so late. I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense, Dimitri,” Byleth shook her head, unscrewing the flask cap. “It’s just what I’d needed,” she smiled, offering him a sly little wink, “that, and the coffee too.”

“Truly?” He asked, almost incredulously, leaning inwards before gathering his bearings, stepping back from her desk. His shy smile was so lovely, Byleth had almost spilled the steaming beverage over her papers. “I’m glad to hear it.” He replied as Byleth brought the flask to her lips. “How is the coffee? Truth be told, it’s the first time I’ve brewed it.”

The taste of the coffee on her tongue leant itself to be an acquired one. Strong, bitter; it seemed that some of the ground beans had escaped the filter or whatever it was he had used to strain out the dregs. Each sip brought about a new flavour, none of which being particularly palatable. She downed the rest of it, trying tremendously hard to maintain a pleasant countenance while doing so.

“My god, professor!” Exclaimed Dimitri, alarmed. “Are you sure it’s wise to drink it all in one sitting?”

“Delicious.” Concluded Byleth, setting down the flask, tongue feeling numb in her mouth. “Thank-you, Dimitri. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“_Delicious_…?” He repeated, visibly stunned. “No one has ever said anything remotely like that about my culinary skills… or lack thereof.” He started chuckling, pinkening around the ears. “Still, I’ll make you some more next time then!” He cleared his throat, sheepish. “If that is what you’d like?”

“I look forward to it.” Said Byleth, wondering internally whether it had been the right decision to encourage the young lord given his distaste towards delicate tasks. Smiling to herself, she noticed the bitter aftertaste of the coffee become sweet on her lips.

***

Sylvain Jose Gautier was a man with a schedule tight enough to rival any professor at the monastery. Though the availability of his appointments wavered depending on the gender of who was inquiring. Dimitri understood this, drumming his knuckles against Sylvain’s room door.

“Just a _minute_…!” Called the Gautier heir from inside.

Dimitri leaned against the doorframe, praying the door would open before Felix realised his sparring partner had defected. Poor Ashe who happened to be replenishing his arrows and bolts would be dealing with Felix’s vexation in the prince’s stead. Dimitri pushed open the door the moment it clicked open.

“Well aren’t you an eager little—oh” Sylvain didn’t hide his disappointment, “well what brings you here, your highness?” He asked, brows raised. “Hey, are you okay?”

Dimitri shut the door behind himself, quickly. He pressed his back against it, barricading himself inside as if he was a prey animal evading a hunter.

“No, Sylvain.” He muttered grimly. “I’m not.”

Sylvain’s eyes darted around the room, then back at the prince. “Need a place to hide, then?” He gestured at the bed, “I actually cleared out a lot of stuff from under the bed so—”

“That’s not what I mean, Sylvain.” Dimitri carped, nevertheless, he came to sit by the bedside, slumping. “I… I did the thing you suggested to me last night in the dining hall.”

“Wait, you did?” Sylvain blinked. “Well, that was quick!” He sat beside Dimitri, excitedly yanking on his shoulder. “Well? How did it go?”

“You’re sitting too close.”

“Tell me how it went!”

“Well… I offered her my hand, confidently, like you said.” He recalled, brushing a long strand of hair hanging over his eyes only for it to fall back into the same place. “She took my hand and said…”

***

“Alright, but I’m escorting you back afterwards.” Byleth replied, rising from the bench with him.

The flow of time seemed to still as they strolled together through the monastery, Dimitri had forgotten the hour he’d restlessly vacated his room, he wondered if the professor had grown tired as she spoke little. Her palm felt small and fragile in his own, had he not seen it with his own two eyes, he’d scarcely believed that these hands wielded the sword of the creator.

“Professor, your hands are so cold,” he remarked, “perhaps you should hold mine… a little tighter.”

“They are cold, aren’t they?” She replied, voice tinged with a subtle sadness. “Students tell me often during training or in the kitchen… Some say, it’s as if I’m a ghost.”

“A ghost? How absurd,” Dimitri shook his head, “you’re anything but, professor. Anyone who has witnessed you feasting in the dining hall would know too.” He grinned impishly. _What on earth was he spouting?_ Surely, _something_ was in the night air.

“Oh? _You’re_ one to talk…!” Byleth snipped before breaking into subdued laughter. She curled her fingers snugly into his grasp, the prince felt as though he was walking on air. “Well, Dimitri—” she began, spirits lifted, “I certainly don’t feel like a ghost when I am with you.”

“To me, you are anything but,” said Dimitri, struggling to keep his grin in check, “you are…” he’d failed, “you are special to me, professor.”

***

Sylvain wore a self-satisfied smile, leaning into his prince. Dimitri pretended not to notice. “_Go_ _on_, your highness.”

“There’s nothing else, that it, Sylvain.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Well believe what you want,” Dimitri stood up in a hurry, complexion flushed, “I just wanted to tell you that—” he sighed, “—that your advice worked and I am grateful.”

Grin widening, Sylvain said nothing but looked to Dimitri bearing the aura of a proud sibling; it warmed him in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time. Sylvain, however, was right to be dubious of him; Dimitri had _almost_ let slip of what transpired after chatting with the professor that night. In his own defence, Dimitri himself was not entirely sure either.

Once again, sleep evaded him in the night. Headaches returning in full force as the prince counted steps in a vain attempt to lull his leaden eyelids. He did not venture outside, instead, Dimitri found himself practising his footwork under the dim lamplight, and later, rehearsing what he would say to the professor had she decided to accept his invitation— the invitation he’d omitted from his recount to Sylvain:

_“Professor, on the night of the ball… I’d love for you to accompany me to the goddess tower. Alone. There is something I must know, and… something I must tell you.”_

He closed his eyes while imagining Byleth within the company of his embrace, how warm it would feel, how wonderful it would be. He dreamt of the entirety of Garreg Mach gathering in the ballroom beneath its beautiful vaulted ceiling and many balconettes, all coming together to watch him dance with the woman he’d grown so very fond of, the woman he’d fallen swiftly and deeply for. The keeper of his heart.

They circled and stepped together, cheers erupting from the audience, the volume in the ballroom climbing higher and higher. Even Edelgard clapped in time with their performance while Claude encouraged the crowd to applaud with him. The prince had wanted to stagger them all, pulling his beloved into his flush. He’d meant to reveal everything to her in that moment, be it via his motions or saccharine whispers.

Dimitri took one step forward, then stopped.

The ballroom fell silent, though, one individual clapped with great vigour. A swallet had torn itself open from the prince’s chest as his wide eyes fell upon the figure, seated, head in his hands, haggard blonde locks obscured his face.

Dimitri felt the familiar pounding against the back of his skull again, mien prickled with ice as the blood drained from his face. Breath caught in his throat, he uttered:

“Father?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've reached the end of another chapter, TYSM <3 I apologise if there are any spelling or grammar issues, my brain has not been the most productive this week---also my BE playthrough is getting me down (it's hard to go straight from BL to BE) >_< Anyway, I hope you stick around for the next one! ^O^/*


	5. The Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri is left shaken after his nightmare leading to a spat with Felix while training. Dimitri then tries his hand at making coffee again, marveling at Dedue's technique; but, everything is turned on its head upon his meeting with Byleth and Manuela in the infirmary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I think this is probably the longest chapter yet, even though I initially wanted chapters to be shorter and snappier? I hope you like it! ^_^' Poor Dima is going to be having a tough time in this one, please find your nearest Dima and hug him, okay? (;~;)
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: If mentions of psychosis/psychotic episodes are upsetting for you, please skip this chapter. Take care <3

Chapter 5: The Other

“Dimitri.” Lambert raised his head, eyes like ice; the former king stared at his son with a frigid intensity Dimitri had experienced only once prior. He opened his arms invitingly, though his son remained rooted in place, eyes wide. “That was quite the performance.” Said Lambert.

The prince glanced over his shoulder, the ballroom was hollow and his beloved was gone. He hadn’t known when she’d slipped from his grasp, though he felt her presence, the ghost of her hand against his palm. He clutched the air.

“It pleases me that you are well, Dimitri.” King Lambert continued, slowly gathering his bearings, brushing his lank blonde hair back from his haggard face. He rose to his feet, glacial gaze unwavering. “Come here,” he beckoned with one hand, “to me, my son.”

Dimitri felt his feet move on their own, he stood facing the former king of Faerghus, chin raised to meet his father’s eyes. Chest tight, a drumbeat pounded at his temple. Lambert rested his hands upon Dimitri’s shoulders and a familiar warmth spread throughout his body, travelling downwards to his fingertips then upwards brimming over the rims of his eyes, Dimitri blinked several times.

“Father…” He choked, swallowing hard only to cough up his breath. “Is… step-mother here? Lately, she does not speak with me…”

“She is heartbroken.” Lambert said, bearing an expression the prince had never seen. “It is your own doing, Dimitri.” His voice was low, but the prince felt each word stab at his flesh.

“Why?” He heard himself ask weakly.

“You’ve been forgetting what is _important_, what you came here to do.” Said Lambert, fingers sinking deep into his son’s shoulders. “Remember what they did to us, Dimitri. How they struck us down, how they purged us like common rats, how they set alight our bodies and burned our flesh to ash… how they left you alone, my son.”

Dimitri felt the previously tepid ballroom grow steadily hot, suffocatingly so. The stench of smog and tang of burning flesh hung like a heavy blanket over the ballroom. He clasped a hand tightly over his quivering lips, eyes darting around the room before falling back to Lambert, his face obscured by the smoke.

He fell forward, clinging to his father’s fur cloak. “I haven’t forgotten!” He cried, eyes stinging and watering. “You _will_ be avenged… mother, step-mother, Glenn, everyone…! I—”

“Tear them apart.”

“I will!”

“Rend the flesh from their bones, tear the heads from their shoulders.”

“I will, father!”

Lambert suddenly pressed a shaking palm against his eye, shoving Dimitri away with his free hand, he fell backwards against the ground, the stodgy scent of the dead dulling his senses. The dead king leered over him, muttering inaudibly, smiling. For the briefest of moments, as the smoke filled his lungs, the prince saw himself staring back at him— grinning.

Dimitri opened his eyes, squinting as the sunlight seared his bleary vision. He wrapped his arms around his damp torso, body drenched in a cold sweat. Exhaling slowly, he placed his shaking palm over his thrumming heart.

* * *

“What’s the matter with you!?” Felix spat, throwing his training sword to the ground in a fit of frustration. “You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying, _boar_!”

“Pick it _up_.” Muttered Dimitri through his teeth, gripping his training sword so tightly it had begun splintering in his grasp.

“I’d have more luck sparring with the _training_ _dummy_.” Snapped Felix, shaking his head. “You’ve gotten sloppy with the sword, go fetch your lance,” he blew a strand of dark hair away, brown eyes amber in the sunlight, “or have you forgotten how to use that too?”

The wooden hilt groaned; Dimitri’s fingertips grew numb as his gauntlets sank into the wood. Jaw tight, he stepped forward.

“Your highness.” A strong hand clamped down on his other wrist.

Dimitri spun around bearing the wild eyes of a frightened cat.

“Your highness,” Dedue repeated, his expression remained stern though his eyes were gentle, “I think it’s time you ate. I won’t have you collapsing during training.”

“Not _now_, Dedue.” Growled Dimitri. “Leave me be.”

There was a tense silence.

“Do what he says,” said Felix finally, shrugging, eyes narrowed, “we’re done for today.”

“Please, your highness.”

Shoulders slumping, the hilt slid from his hands onto the floor. He followed Dedue out, wordlessly.

* * *

  
“I’m so sorry, Dedue.” Dimitri began, words soaked with remorse. He sipped from his steaming cup of chamomile tea before placing it down on the saucer in front of him, hanging his head. “I don’t know what came over me this morning, I didn’t mean to speak to you in such a manner.” He sighed deeply. “I didn’t mean to—"

“That is _enough_.” He held up a hand and Dimitri obediently pressed his lips together. “There is nothing to apologise to me for, your highness—”

“But—”

“I’ll accept so long as you stop torturing yourself over it.” Dedue said, the hint of a smile playing upon his lips. “I’ve thought of something we could do together… to alleviate some stress.” He procured a familiar looking flask from his satchel-bag and placed it on the table in front of the crestfallen prince. “You wanted my help with this, correct?”

Dimitri finished the rest of his tea in two large gulps, shakily placing the empty teacup down. He nodded, refusing to glance in the direction of the flask; the realisation that the coffee previously brewed for the professor probably tasted like pondscum was enough to fill the prince with shame. He’d been too prideful to ask for help the day before and it had only served to humiliate him and discomfit his teacher. This time, it would be different.

***

“My lord, I must say…” Dedue rubbed his chin, appraisingly. “Even I could not grind the coffee beans so finely, yet you do so with ease. Impressive.”

“That may be the case, Dedue.” Dimitri grumbled, setting down the mortar and pestle. “It still looked lumpy when I poured it into the flask for the professor last time.”

Dedue chuckled, lighting the burner to boil the pulverised coffee, sugar and water. “You probably poured the grounds into the flask as well. This time, we’ll let the grounds settle and filter them out when we pour it into the flask.” Dedue declared, eyeing the prince who watched him prepare the coffee bearing the wonderment of a young child.

“Of course!” Exclaimed Dimitri, nodding along to Dedue’s instruction. “I can’t believe I’d missed such a simple detail. I must keep this in mind for next time.”

“Then you plan to do this regularly for the professor?”

“Well, erm, I suppose so, yes.”

“Good.” Said Dedue. “It’s no wonder the professor always speaks so fondly of you, your majesty.”

“Oh, come now, Dedue…” Clearing his throat, the prince shifted his gaze to the floor. He prayed for the coffee pot to steam before his mien inevitably did, though he found himself growing giddy at the thought nonetheless.

* * *

“Professor Manuela, our teacher is fine, I presume?” Dimitri asked, trying to mask the mild panic in his voice upon discovering that Byleth’s whereabouts had been the infirmary for the past hour. “May I speak with her, briefly?”

“Oh, _my_… how very sweet of you to check in on your teacher, your highness.” The corners of her mouth curled as the physician scrutinized the young lord’s worried expression. “She is quite fine, dear. The professor is resting though, poor thing was out in the sun for far too long,” she sighed, wrinkling her nose, “_fishing_.”

“I’m… I’m alright!” Came a flustered voice from within the infirmary. 

The prince looked to Manuela for silent confirmation before poking his head into the infirmary room. The physician stepped to the side of the doorway, tittering softly as he strode in, holding the flask with two clammy hands.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you professor.” He murmured, eyes on his feet as he approached. “I only came to drop this off.” Placing the flask by the small bedside table, he looked to his professor, “I promise you it tastes better than… “

He swallowed the rest of his words.

Byleth looked as though she’d woken from a long nap, her fingers combed through soft tousled tresses in a vain effort to tame her bed hair, she batted her dark lashes sleepily while sitting up in the bed. Pulling her knees inwards against her chest, she rested her chin atop them. There was a sleepy sort of vulnerableness to the professor’s appearance, and not being accustomed to her in such a way, Dimitri shied from her gaze.

“How do you always know, Dimitri?” She smiled dreamily at him. “It smells divine.”

Passing the flask over to her, he noticed the flush of sunburn across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. He wondered how long she’d been fishing, sitting directly under the sun. He wanted to scold her— only a little, however, recalling his _own_ conduct that morning... the prince held his tongue.

Initially apprehensive (though never having shown it), Byleth was pleasantly surprised sipping from the flask this time. The coffee was mild and smooth, not too sweet: just the way she liked it. Dimitri sat on the edge of the bed; hands clasped firmly over his knees; complexion redder than her sunburn. She smiled into the flask as she drank.

“I must thank you properly for the coffee, Dimitri.” Byleth continued, having finished the contents of the flask down to the last drop. “After our dance practise tomorrow afternoon, I was thinking…” A sudden bout of reticence forced Byleth to speak upwards to the ceiling, “afterwards, I should treat you to dinner… in town.”

The prince froze. _A dinner date?_ His mind immediately conjured up the excitement he’d felt upon the notion Claude had stirred within him previously. Surely dinner in town purported that it would be a furtive occasion, time unmarred of interruptions from students also wishing to monopolise the professor’s free time?

For at least a few hours, Dimitri would have his dear one all to himself. He exhaled slowly through his nose, desperately urging himself to calm the blood that ran hot and swift through his veins.

“I will obligingly take you up on that offer, professor!” Dimitri replied brightly, bunching up the loose sheet fittings in his fists. “I can hardly wait.”

“I hope you’ve been practising your footwork,” Byleth added, swinging her feet across the bedside to sit adjacent from him, “I’ve found a rather interesting routine I want you... I want us to try....” Her eyes scanned the room for professor Manuela, Byleth would not have anyone listening in their impromptu strategy meeting. 

“Ah… an _interesting_ routine, you say?” Dimitri repeated, voice scraped thin. He’d been so wrapped up in thoughts of their dinner date, he’d forgotten another humiliating dance practise awaited him formerly. He wet his lips, “What makes it so interesting, professor?”

She tapped her nose, knowingly. “That’s a secret.” She spoke with a mischievous inclination. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Oh, _professor_…” Dimitri groaned, crossing his arms. “Must you tease me, so?” He huffed, acting as if she’d slighted him, though in actuality her sympathetic simpering further solidified his affection for her. “Is it really that funny? I—”

“_Dimitri_.”

A line creased his brow, a familiar voice, his elation evaporated upon recognition.

Byleth’s smile faded, noticing the colour draining from her student’s face. He sat, rigid, staring as though she’d become transparent, ghostly. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw no one. 

“Dimitri?”

“I’m… I’m sorry.” His voice hoarse, face set. “Forgive me.”

Byleth watched with growing concern, no matter what she said afterwards, the prince spewed forth apology after apology as if stuck in a loop, his mien flickered bearing an unknown emotion as she moved closer to him.

Dimitri pleaded to the dead king seated betwixt himself and his teacher, his father remained expressionless though the denigration leaked from him, filling the infirmary with the same oppressive gloom the prince had suffocated in during the night.

“What’s wrong, Dimitri? What’s happened?” Byleth asked, struggling to maintain steadiness in her shaking voice. Unresponsive, she went to touch his arm, gently.

Dimitri gasped as an arm clawed through Lambert’s visage, tearing into his arm with what felt like a sharp shard of ice. He recoiled back violently, stumbling backwards to his feet from the bed, hitting the side of the physician’s desk, knocking over the empty flask.

He choked back a scream watching the head of his father fall from his shoulders, shattering against the floor by his feet. His eyes stung hot as tears bubbled over the rims of his red eyes.

“Dimitri…!?” His beloved’s voice rang feint in his ears, he cursed the thought of her observing him fall apart as his father did, again and again. Dimitri turned on his heel.

“What is going _on_ in here?” Came the startled voice of Manuela, entering amidst the confusion. “Your highness is everything—”

Dimitri pushed past her, tears streaming down his blotchy complexion. He rushed out of the room in a panicked state, a clattering in the hallway followed.

“Professor?”

Byleth snatched up the flask from the floor and wordlessly manoeuvred around the confused physician, instinctively shadowing him, eyes wide with worry.

By the time she'd reached the hallway, as if spirited away, the prince had disappeared. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank-you so much if you've made it here! I appreciate it more than words can say T~T I'm sorry if this chapter was a downer, drop a comment to let me know what you thought! I promise you there will be many fluffy moments in the future though! ^_^  
A special thank-you to those of you that bookmarked this fic too, you are the cheese to my Dima <3 <3 <3
> 
> Have a great week, see you in the next chapter! 
> 
> (P.S: Rosesandthorons writes great fics, and recently she did a really cute Sylvix one, please check it out if you want! >3<)


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